The Court of Failures
by Velasa
Summary: It's 2190, the Reaper War ended three years ago, and reconstruction is underway for both Palaven and her people. Turian therapy is different.


If you weren't turian, you didn't understand.

Among his friends of other species the Court of Failures was considered controversial at best, abject torture at worst. (Lantar knew torture, had been at the tender mercies of the Blue Suns' worst and still woke up some nights shivering. This wasn't torture.) Jes had practically been in tears as she'd told him it was bullshit, that they had no right to tell him he was a failure, that he'd done so much good since the mistake that it didn't matter anymore. But she wasn't turian. She couldn't understand why he needed this.

His fellows were generals, Blackwatch, politicians and the like whose sins were too secret to air in a normal court. Lantar thanked the spirits for the strings that had been pulled to get him here- he wouldn't have to confess the whole of his failings to anyone but his own Judge and couldn't be forced to name his commander. Garrus had... been through enough without his name being dragged through the mud again. No one needed to know what the Legate had done in the dark years.

Having someone judge every one of your failings helped. Being told that he should have died in that cell went hand in hand with being told that his Commander never should have put responsibility on someone so young and untrained (only a year of Basic sweet Spirits). Being told that every act he did from now on would be penance for his failure and the men he left to die in his selfish cowardice.

Each of the eight of them were required to tell a redacted version of their story to the group- no names, no locations, certain mission critical facts carefully exempted for the greater security of the turian people as a whole. All of them were all harrowing. One soldier had abandoned her post to find her husband and the hole left in the blacksite's defenses let the whole data center get overrun, exposing crucial fleet info. An agent so relieved at living through his mission failed to pay proper attention to security and was followed back to Mission Command by Cerberus, leaving him one of the only survivors after it was firebombed and he fled like a coward. A politician distracted by Red Sand withdrawal after smuggling routes to her planet were cut off had made a series of terrible decisions that had damned half a planet to the Reapers. In the face of all that the smallness of Lantar's own failure was almost comforting.

And then there was the Lieutenant from Vectis on Palaven. He was young for a lieutenant, very quiet, withdrawn from everyone in the group. One bad decision had led his unit to disaster and even though the judges assured him he did everything properly after that, the loss of so many good soldiers weighed heavily on him. It wasn't as if he'd gotten off lightly either. Horrible burn scars covered his face, and crude postwar synthetic limbs showed from under his tunic. Something about jumping on a bomb to keep it from killing anyone else. It'd worked apparently. Didn't make the guy any less miserable.

Lantar knew that look. He'd seen it in his own reflection every day for years, still did some times if he was being honest. The way the Lieutenant spoke about the General he'd failed was deeply personal. He knew this person, cared greatly about doing what they wanted, and no matter the personal cost he'd suffered he might never forgive himself for failing his superior. It was a fucking shame. Guy was in his 30s at best, barely out of his service years, and he'd lived through the war only to come out like this. Wartime was confusing, decisions couldn't always be made when you had full information available, and Spirits help him _he lost half his limbs saving everyone from a bomb!_ That should have been enough!

That thought was what drove Lantar to do something. The Lieutenant was standing staring out the window as he often did when Court let out, paying no heed to all the others slipping off into the morning with their own shame. Palaven was rebuilding at an astounding rate- take a few million stressed out turians and give them a job to do and they'll do the fuck out of it- and the view got better every day. He turned away from it and towards the other man.

"Hi."

The Lieutenant turned his head, seemingly surprised to realize someone was talking to him. Lantar flared his mandibles in a smile. "Are you doing anything today?"

"...No." There was a pause there that had nothing to do with thinking through his plans because it was clear that he didn't have any. Probably never had any and was self-imposing isolation on himself as a form of punishment for what had happened more than three years ago at this point.

"Well, there's a service project at the old Archives I've been volunteering at not far from here and we could always use extra help. All activity levels too: moving rubble around, washing things off, sorting files. If you're worried about the scars it's... not that odd of a sight anymore. No one would pay any extra attention to them." He keeps his subvocals carefully light and open, mandibles flicked out in that same smile. Acceptance, some level of understanding, the offer of a different outlet for his burdens. The guy stalled like he didn't know what to say, so Lantar made one more light push. "If it doesn't work out, I'll buy you takeout and leave you alone. Deal?"

There was a stretch of silence as the Lieutenant stared back out at the new Cipritine skyline, first at nothing in particular and then towards where the Archives used to stand. He looked tired, like he always did, but he stood just a little straighter.

"...Do you know anywhere that has Sigian louza?"

He grinned. "The best."

The Lieutenant didn't have as much movement in his face as he probably used to, but there was the barest flutter of his mandibles that could have been a smile.

"Name's Lantar, by the way. I know a woman who can give us a ride to the site if it's hard to get around."

"... Tarquin. And, thank you."

They left the window behind and walked out together. It was a shot in the dark, and healing was never that easy, but it was something. And when all you have left is little things you do your best with them.

End.

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My part of an art/fic trade for MundaneChampagne, art can be found here . /9c2c5c8af4e6f0a24e1555b11696bc11/tumblr_o4y0zdwN0R1rr8i2ho1_

This was originally just going to be the art with maybe a paragraph description, but then the rest of this happened and I'm pretty happy with how it came out. Thanks to Ace for encouragement and betaing this for me.


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